Just Got Back From A War
by navycorpsman
Summary: Friends realize Army Ranger Christopher Andrew Silas isn’t who he was before his deployments.  Deals with his deployments to Mogadishu, Afghanistan, Iraq, and September 11, 2001.
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer: I don't own any of the characters, otherwise I'd own Tariq! ****: ) And have Scream stashed away in my closet: ) Hell, I'll take Bosco (Who will be mentioned in this story. Kinda a Third Watch/Over There cross over. Don't know how well it is though…)**

**Spoilers: Nope. Not in this story…**

**Content Warning: Language, but it's typical for the military.**

**Summary: Friends realize Army Ranger Christopher Andrew Silas isn't who he was before his deployments. Deals with his deployments to Mogadishu, Afghanistan, Iraq, and September 11, 2001. **

**(There may be parts where Scream is OCC, but we only saw one side of him in Over There. I'm sure he just didn't scream and bark at everyone. LoL)  
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No one ever considered Chris Silas sentimental. He was all business and so for him to kiss the ground after the transport plane had landed, thankful to be back on American soil, was out of character for him. Those who knew him, and knew him well, would have laughed at the site of his 6'1" frame, bending, kissing the asphalt of the tarmac. As he stood up, he smiled to himself. He had all these images in his mind. His mom and dad greeting him, flags unfurled and waving. Katherine would be there, arms open and greet him with a kiss, welcoming him home, promising of what the night would have in store for them. 

But, as they got off the bus, he saw no one there to greet him. Truth was, he expected noone. No parents. No brothers. No sisters. No friends or family. He may have been upset, but this was normal for them. After all, they didn't think he really belonged in the Army. Chris rolled his eyes as he remembered what his father had said to him a few days before he left for training before deploying to Somalia. _Mark my words, Christopher. You're going where the US doesn't belong. If they want to starve and kill each other, what business is it of ours? But you and this whole __**I have to do something **__**other than sit here, Pops**__, attitude of yours, well, it's bound to kill you. And don't look for us to support this fiasco that the President has gotten us, you, into. Trust me. You don't need to go. It's their business. But, that's the US. Have to protect the whole world. That's why you joined, ain't it, Christopher? Because you always have to protect others?_

And, so his deployment to Somalia had begun. No letters from home, but he didn't care. Unless he counted that one from Katherine that stated she didn't want to date someone who put others before her. He had spent whole five minutes angry at that, but after a mission to capture (or attempt) the warlord responsible for the genocide happening in Somalia, he didn't care. If she couldn't or wouldn't stand behind him, than he was better off without her. And, if he really thought about it, the only ones that mattered to him were the ones that he was fighting alongside of. His brothers in arms. His fellow Soldiers; fellow Rangers.

He hadn't even told them he was deploying to Iraq. After all, what difference would it have made? They didn't want him in Somalia or Afghanistan. He had played his father's speech over and over in his head about how they didn't belong there to make the lack of support from the family easier. Not that it had been. There were a couple times that he sat in front of the phone, wanting to call his folks, but found he couldn't. If they couldn't try to reach out and support him, why then should he reach out to them to let them know he was okay? So, instead of calling home, he gave the card away to the first Soldier he met.

So, the family wasn't there to greet him. They weren't there after Somalia, why the fuck would they be there now? He looked as Angel was being mobbed by several people who were crying and yelling "THANK YOU, JESUS! THANK YOU, JESUS!" with their hands in the air. Captain Baron was being hugged as if there was no tomorrow by his wife and kids. Smoke held on tightly to a woman that he kept calling "Moms" and crying. Even Dim and his estranged wife seemed to have called a truce for the homecoming. Scream smiled. He could feel the chill in the 90 degree day.

He smiled over at Tariq, who smiled broadly back. Scream could have felt jealous for one moment, but he couldn't. He didn't. He looked over to his right side and saw black and gold. He stopped for one moment. He blinked, wondering if he had really seen what he thought he'd seen. He admitted only to himself that he was a little disappointed that it was merely his imagination. He slightly shrugged and adjusted his pack.

Scream hailed a taxi and headed to the airport. Welcome or not, he was going home to Long Island. He longed to see how it had changed since he left a little over the twelve years after he left. He hadn't been back since he came home for Christmas of 1995. An argument with his family over his choice of career ensured that visits home would only be welcomed if he gave up the Army and settled down with a nice girl and started a family. He almost had, but he knew the Army was his life. And, if he were the sentimental sort that believed it, his destiny.

He made his way into the men's restroom and quickly changed into the jeans and tee shirt he managed to pack and cursed that he forgot to make sure his tennis shoes were within easy reach. He had worn his boots thin and his feet complained with every time he put them on. He silently apologized to his feet as he laced up the worn boots and walked to the ticket counter.

He got a ticket and headed off to board. He never let his guard down. He remembered when he returned to New York after he came back from Somalia. He couldn't sleep for what seemed like days without having to feel like he had to secure the house. His dad had enough by the time Chris left that the elder Silas told his son to not contact him again until he decided that saving the world was no longer his mission in life.

As the plane flew towards Kennedy Airport, Scream looked to where the Towers once stood and realised that saving the world was always his mission in life. He leaned back and closed his eyes and remembered that day.

"_Holy shit! Holy shit! Holy shit! HOLY SHIT!" The scream woke up the sleeping Chris Silas. He couldn't complain, really. He'd been having that nightmare again about getting lost in the streets of Mogadishu again, and the skies raining bullets and missiles._

"_What the fuck? Some of us are still trying to fucking sleep, assholes!" He rubbed his eyes and walked towards the common room._

_PFC Matt Taubers looked at Chris. "Ain't you from New York, Sarge?"_

_Scream rolled his head. "Yeah. What of it?"_

_A few of the men moved and Chris saw it. The World Trade Center Towers on fire. He knew he shouldn't watch. He knew too many people that worked in that area, but fear and anger kept him glued to the television. "You know what this means?" Sergeant Darryl Sturgis sighed._

"_It means I re-up." Scream sighed. He was angry. He had been in the military long enough to recognize an attack when he saw one._

_Sgt. Sturgis looked at Scream, disbelief present. "What about your life that you planned?"_

_Scream pointed to the television. "That's my life, Sturgis. Those mother fuckers can not come into my goddamned country, kill our brothers and sisters and not expect me to help kick the living shit out of them. They not only attacked the wrong country, they attacked the wrong city. New Yorkers love our city and we'll be fuckin' goddamned if we're going to let some yellow bellied chicken shit mother fuckers blow our city up." Scream stormed off, anger running through his veins._

As Scream strolled out of the airport, he smiled and laughed softly to himself. _That was the start of it all._ He adjusted his pack and hailed a taxi. "Where to, pal?" The taxi driver asked, his accent heavy.

"Ground Zero."

"Ain't nothin' there, pal. Just a hole."

"Yeah? Well, take me there anyhow. Maybe I like holes." Scream eyed his taxi driver heavily. He didn't seem to trust him, but, if had been honest, he didn't trust anyone. The only two exceptions were now back in California. He had learned to trust Angel and Tariq immensely. Here, back home in New York, he trusted no one.

"Ground Zero." The driver seemed to loathe that he had to drive a stranger to this place. "Ya know, all the tourists want to see this. Like it's some sort of park or somethin'."

"I ain't no tourist, jag off. I'm from Long Island." Scream kept his voice soft, though harsh. "I lost a few pals here and I fuckin' fought for them. The least I can do is come and see where they breathed their last breath." For the first time he could ever remember, Chris Silas was thankful for New York traffic. He tossed a $20 at the driver. "I'll walk the rest of the way."

He made his way through the throngs of people heading about their day. He wasn't sentimental, but he felt he had to somehow see where Katherine had spent her last day. He had to make his losses and his gains real. He felt he had to know what he really fought for.


	2. Chapter 2

**Disclaimer: See Chapter One for all disclaimers.**

** For the record, I don't own Bosco either. Sighs heavily. Wish I did. **

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_It was the same as before. His dad ignored him. "Aren't you gonna say something, Pops?"_

"_What for, Chris? You think you're going to change the world." His father dug into the mashed potatoes. "Why don't you and Katherine marry and have kids? Like your brother and Gina did?"_

_Scream rolled his eyes and his head. "Katherine and I broke up two years ago when I was in Somalia, remember?" His dad gave him a blank look. "Fuckin' Jesus. You're wanting us to get back together."_

"_Why not?" Anna Silas broke in. "She's a good girl."_

"_She's not an Army wife."_

"_Then get out of the Army." His mom handed him the yams._

"_It's not that easy, Momma."_

"_Because you're not making it." She passed him the green beans. Chris sighed and stood up. "Where you going?"_

_Chris looked at his mom and said nothing. He went upstairs and started packing. "What?"_

_His younger brother Mike stood, leaning against the door frame. "Where you going?"_

"_Home."_

"_You are home."_

_Chris looked at his brother. "Nah. I'm in some sort of fuckin' dream world, Mikey." Scream angrily closed his pack. "I need to get away from here. I need to go home."_

"_Where's home?" Mike moved as Chris walked past._

"_Fort Benning, if you must know." Chris stopped in his tracks. "Mikey, I'm a Ranger. I'm one of the Army's SpecOps. I'm nothin' else."_

"_Sure. Only cause you think the Army is a noble cause." It took all of Scream's control to not slam his brother against the wall. "What is so noble about it? Why not give it all up and settle down, have a family and work in the family business. You act like you do something far more special than it is. All you do is kill people. Innocent people, Chris. You kill…No. Make that **MURDER** innocent people."_

_Scream held back no longer. He slammed his brother against the wall. "I fight and kill so you can fuckin' call me a loser. I watch my fuckin' brothers die so you can condemn the job, the life, we fuckin' choose to live. What is so fuckin' noble about being an asshole, Mikey? Being a mother fuckin' pacifist? You think you can accomplish half the shit I have? Think again." He dropped his brother to the floor. "Merry fuckin' Christmas."_

Scream sipped his beer. A lot happened between that Christmas in 1995 and now. _He_ had changed. He was hardened to life and to death. He didn't cry anymore. In fact, he distinctly remembered the orphanage because that had been the first time in 12 years he _had_ cried and he hadn't cried since. He hadn't even lost his temper like that in the past twelve years either.

If he had been the sentimental, live on memories type of person, he would have gone straight back to his parents house and apologize. But he wasn't. If Chris Silas was anything, he was stubborn. He was also prideful. He blamed his Italian heritage for both traits. And, if Chris Silas was stubborn, then Mauricio Silas was even more so then his son. So, even if the younger Silas had decided to go home and bury the hatchet, he knew that his father wouldn't.

So, Scream sat. He looked out at the street, wondering if he should take the high road and see his parents, if they even knew who he was. He sighed and decided that, if he were here, Angel would have told him to do so. He paid for his beer and Scream called for another taxi. If the first taxi driver, with his heavy New York accent, had made Chris mildly uncomfortable, then the turban wearing tanned man driving this taxi, made Chris extremely uncomfortable. He had, on more than one occasion during the drive, remind himself that this wasn't the usual Middle Eastern man he was used to dealing with. But, when he reached a small two-storied house on Long Island, he couldn't wait to get out of the taxi. He paid the driver double the amount and stood at the gate, debating with himself.

"You'll get shot if you stand there any longer." Chris turned around and saw a familiar face. "Fuckin' A! Chris! How the hell are you?"

Scream laughed. "Changed. But, can't say the same for you, now can we, Bosco?"

"Hey. I'm changed."

"Uh-huh." Chris smiled. "I heard you had become a cop. Where you at now?"

"Bed-Stuy."

Chris laughed. "I thought you said you wanted to leave combat behind."

"I thought the same of you. What ever happened to settling down with what's her name?" Maurice Boscorelli leaned against the fence.

"The last gal I was ever involved with long enough was Kath and we both know about that letter in Mog." He sighed. "She was killed on 9/11. She was there, at the Towers for work. Heard about it from Cammie."

"Yeah. It was awful. I was there." Bosco said nothing else and Scream didn't push him. "So, what brings you back anyhow? I thought your folks don't know you're even alive still."

"I know." Chris looked at the house. "I keep wondering what the fuck I'm doing either. You know if they still live here?"

"Yeah. They sorta ask me to look in on them from time to time. Ya know, kinda the son they never had."

Chris looked at his former fellow Ranger and close friend. "They ridin' your ass to settle down and start a family with a good girl from the neighborhood?"

"Every day." Bosco smiled.


	3. Chapter 3

**D****isclaimer: See Chapter One for all disclaimers.**

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Chris smiled. He had known Maurice Boscorelli his entire life. One could argue that Bosco was more family to Chris than the rest of the Silas family. Trust? Scream would trust Bosco with his very life. He had. In Mogadishu, Bosco was the reason that Scream was able to tell his family off in 1995.

"_I'm just saying, Chris." Bosco leaned back on his cot._

"_Yeah?" An amused Scream looked up from the letter he was reading._

"_Yeah. I mean think about it. Who better to patrol the streets of NYC than a native son?"_

_Chris laughed. "I feel safe just thinking about you being a part of NYPD, Maurie."_

"_What?" Maurice sat up. "You don't think I could do it, do you?"_

_Chris, who had returned to reading Katherine's letter, looked up once again. "You're just too trigger happy. You look for any excuse. Shoot first. Question later." Scream couldn't hide the smile that formed on his lips. "But, I have to be honest here, Bosco."_

"_What? You? Honest?" The tone was light and Bosco tried not to laugh._

"_When have I ever lied?"_

"_Well, let's see. Did you ever tell your folks you was going to be a Ranger?" Chris's silence gave Maurice the confirmation he felt he needed. "I rest my case."_

"_But I never told them I wasn't either. Different than lying."_

"_Details." Maurice playfully waved his hand. "But what were you honest about? Me being too trigger…"_

"_I'd trust you with my life." Scream interrupted._

"You gonna stand there all day or are you going to see your folks?" Bosco turned and faced the house.

For the first time, Scream felt fear. He hadn't know true fear in his life. Even in the combat situations. He felt the fear that kept him alive, but he had never been paralyzed with fear as he was at this moment. To face his parents was more than he wanted. He thought he could mend the fences, but as he stood there, Chris realized that he couldn't.

"Maurice?" Chris recognized his mom's voice. She walked down the pathway. "What in the world are you doing here? We didn't expect you until Saturday." She hugged the young man. "Who's this with you?"

Chris sighed. Combat had aged him so that he looked much older than his 36 years. He turned and faced Anna. "Mom."

"Why are you here?" Anna's voice had become cold.

"I've seen a lot of men die, Anna, without making amends. I just thought that…"

"You're not welcome here." She crossed her arms.

Scream looked at his mother with a stare that scared her. "Why? Because I'm not the son you wanted?"

"You turned your back on this family."

Scream laughed. "_I_ turned my back on the family? If I'm not mistaken, it was you and Pops that decided that I wasn't good enough for the Silas name." He sighed. "I just got back from a goddamned war and I wanted to make things right with my family. You know how many times I almost fucking died over there? How many times I almost called you?"

"You should have died over there." Anna turned back to Bosco. "So, Saturday at five?"

Bosco looked at his friend and then at Anna. "Sorry. Gotta work. Double shift. Covering for a friend on leave." He lied. If anyone who had known Maurice Boscorelli, they wouldn't have been surprised at his lie. Bosco, Chris had often told him, had one fault: he was loyal. Too loyal sometimes. Time and time again, Bosco had Scream's back, even if he knew his friend was wrong. He looked at Chris. "I'll drive you back to the city."

As the two of them sat in Bosco's car, Chris looked at friend. "You didn't have to lie to my mom."

"Yeah, I did." Bosco sighed. "If I had to choose you or her, you'd be my choice. You may be a lot of things, but the one thing you are is honest."

"_What the fuck!?" Chris yelled. "DIM!" Scream was now living up to his nickname. "DIM! GODDAMNIT! HOW MANY FUCKIN' TIMES DO I HAVE TO REMIND YOU TO FUCKIN' SECURE YOUR GODDAMNED MOTHER FUCKIN' WEAPON WHEN YOU'RE IN CAMP!?"_

_Dim said nothing. He had respect for the Staff Sergeant who was his platoon leader. Things for the young Soldier had gone down for him since he learned his wife had cheated on him._

_If anyone had accused Scream of caring for his Soldiers, he would have called them a fool, but the truth is he did. He cared enough to keep them alive. Whatever shit Dim went through at home, it was nothing compared to what the Staff Sergeant had. At least Dim had a family that wrote him; that cared if he came home alive or not. Scream wanted to let Dim know this, but he didn't tell him. He had told the younger man that he needed to let home stay at home. He was in a fuckin' war and he needed to keep his head about him. This not only ensured he'd get home safe, but the rest of the small fire team would._

_Later that night, Scream had found himself sitting in the communications tent, thinking about calling home. He decided he wouldn't and gave his phone card to the young private behind him. "It's got at least three hours on it."_

"_Thanks, Sarge!" The young man seemed thrilled by Scream's uncharacteristic good deed._

_Scream said nothing, but headed back to his tent, where he sat on his cot. "You're not calling home, Sarge?" Tariq's voice caused Scream to jump._

"_Fuck." Scream muttered. "Didn't see you, Tariq."_

"_That's because I'm short." Tariq's smile made the hardened Sarge smile. "Not calling home or…"_

"_I've got nothing to say." Before he knew it, Scream was telling Tariq the whole story. He hadn't really ever delved into his personal life, but he felt that the young Arab across the way from him was trust-worthy. He detailed his last conversation with his family. He told Tariq about the letter from his ex while he was in Mogadishu. For anyone other than Maurice Boscorelli to know such details about the life Christopher Andrew Silas had outside of the Army wasn't possible. Scream felt a lot during the past few years, but he couldn't ever express his anger, frustrations, or sadness about it all. He noted Tariq sat silent, listening to every word, as though he were trying to understand. Scream felt he must have talked forever, but it seemed as soon as he started talking, he was saying "That's it. The whole story."_

_Tariq said nothing for a few moments. He sighed and noted that his Sarge shifted uncomfortably. "What you said is between us, Sarge." Tariq's voice was soft. "No one else needs to know. I feel honored that you told me, but now I understand why you're so damn protective."_

"_You guys are my family." Scream had thought that many times, but this was the first time he actually said them._

Scream said nothing more the rest of the way to New York City. After all, he felt, what could he possibly say to Bosco? Bosco was seemingly everybody's favorite son, even if he wasn't theirs. He couldn't tell Bosco anything that his friend did not already know and the younger of the two men sensed this and drove on in silence, respecting his closest friend's wish to not talk.


	4. Chapter 4

**Disclaimer: See Chapter One for all disclaimers.**

**I don't own Justin Timberlake either. Cries at how unfair the world is. JT owns himself. I just own the CDs he made, but millions of others own them too, so…yeah. **

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The bar had been fairly quiet for being seven at night on a Friday evening and the two men sitting at the table in the darkest and farthest table from the door seemed to enjoy the quiet, as if it were a respite from whatever noise they may have been trying to escape. If anyone had wandered in and casually looked at the two men, it would be argued that they were close friends, if not in this current day and age, lovers. They were seated close to each other, leaning in towards the other, silently talking, smiling, laughing and glancing up every now and again to see if anyone heard what they were conversating about.

The one that sat closet to the wall, one could argue, was hard. His face showed lines of worry that were far beyond his apparent young years. His gray eyes hid pain and anger that none, save the man sitting next to him, could understand. One got the feeling that this man didn't care if anyone else understood. It seemed as though the other man's understanding were more than enough for him. He silently sipped the beer that had grown warm, his back hunched, leaning towards his company, his eyes scanning the place, as if looking for some unseen danger that posed a threat to his well being.

The other man looked just as worn; just as hardened to life, if not more so. His brown eyes glanced rapidly about, scanning the bar, mirroring the movements, and, one supposed, the intent of the man to his right.. He kept his back to the wall and his eyes forward, save the one or two disbelieving glances to the man with whom he shared company with. One could have guessed that this man, from the distant, empty and haunting glaze in his eyes, had seen more death than most people. He didn't seem all too interested in being in the bar in the first place, but seemed to enjoy the company he was with. The casual observer would have seen a smile every now and again from the more life hardened man, but would have also noted that it sometimes seemed to be forced.

Neither man said anything to anyone except themselves. The other few patrons in the bar seemed to not really care about or even notice the presence of the two men. They were, the rest felt, like them. They were here to forget something, and by the way the taller of the two men was drinking, he apparently had a lot to forget. He had not just one drink at his immediate disposal, but it was flanked by hard whiskey on either side of the beer that he held firmly in his clutches.

It wasn't until a tall blonde woman casually strolled into the bar that either man seemed interested in what was going on in the bar. She smiled as she sat at the bar, occasionally glancing at the men, who seemed to be enthralled by her very presence. At the beckoning of the younger of the two men, she grabbed her drink and joined the men. While she talked animatedly with the grey-eyed man, the haunted older man leaned farther back in his seat, eyeing her with suspicion and wonderment.

"This is Yokas. The one I was telling you about." The rusty haired man nudged the silent one. "She's my partner."

The second gentleman smiled. "So, you're the one that keeps Maurie in check?"

The blonde lady laughed a hearty laugh. "I do my best, but you know Bosco. Going to do what he wants, when he wants, and how he wants."

"Hey now." Bosco feigned hurt.

The blonde woman continued to laugh and the two men found themselves laughing with her. One could argue that she held a key to getting the men to relax, which they hadn't fully done since sitting in the bar. For an hour, the three sat, talked and laughed, before the woman had to leave. She said she had her daughter's party to get to and she stopped for a drink before going home to an apartment full of hormone fueled 16 year old girls, raving over the new Justin Timberlake song and video, while singing the song not only loudly, but off key. A stiff drink, she laughed, was the only way to deal with it.

As she left, the casual observer could see the men once again lean into themselves and carry on the conversation as though the past hour hadn't happened. It was very apparent that whatever they were talking about, the casual bar customer wouldn't understand, nor would even try to understand.

The men seemed to be comfortable with the seating arrangement and made no effort to move. Smiles, forced or sincere, followed by the same style laugh, would intermittently be seen and heard from the men. No passing customer to Filan's Bar would have even thought to give the two men a look.

A casual listener could hear the older of the two men talk about "the desert and shit" with a soft hint of regret and sorrow. And, that same said listener could hear the younger man softly reply how much he understood and to "think about how to start to leave Iraq behind", suffering a demeaning comment from his companion, with "fuck off" as a part of the sentence. But, no matter the difference the two men may have had at the moment seemed to matter. They still laughed quietly, smiled forcefully, and nudged each other in good fun.

It was obvious that they shared a friendship that covered, not just the torments of growing up, but the torments of seeing and doing things that the casual observer could only begin to vaguely think about, if he even dared to think of them at all.**  
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**Please note: This was NOT meant to make Bosco and Scream look like lovers. I wanted to merely show the reader the depths of the friendship that the two men have. Honest.**


	5. Chapter 5

**Disclaimer: See Chapter One for all disclaimers.**

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If one had asked if the dark skinned, hard looking man with the haunting eyes at table six at the back of the bar had, at one time, been a happy man, they would have gotten a resounding "He was such a happy child." reply from those that knew that man well. But those that had known the man when he was a small child would say "But he's so different now. The Army has changed him." followed by a very pious "That's why the Army is not good for our children. They brainwash them." To which, that same hardened man would jump to the defense of the Army, telling those who listened that "The Army gave me something my parents never did. A sense that I was someone worth investing in. Someone that could do something positive." In short, he felt that the Army gave him the one thing he never had: a family. And it was for that Army family that this man would stand and fight for. Yes, Chris conceded, he'd kill an enemy for the sake of the life of the man (or in the case of the small fire team he had been rather unduly given the task of supervising during his recent deployment to Iraq, woman) that flanked him on either side.

It was indeed, by an old neighbor, pointed out that Chris Silas had changed. He made sure to point out that the happy jovial, always getting in some sort of trouble Christopher Andrew Silas that he knew from school had, in every sense of the word, had changed. "And not necessarily for the best, I must add, Silas."

Chris smiled, a weak, yet forced, smile. "Yeah. I've changed." And he said no more.

The neighbor, who happened upon the two friends at Filan's, looked stunned. "What's happened? I mean, really, Silas. I mean, I know that you were in Iraq, but that shouldn't change you like this, should it?"

Bosco scoffed into his beer. He had served alongside Chris Silas in Mogadishu as a fresh from RIP Army Ranger, anxious to see his first bit of combat. Chris, in his attempts to calm his childhood friend from going trigger happy, earned the nickname of "Scream" while he was there. Bosco looked at the young man across from him. "You don't really know, do you?"

"No. I don't. We were in a place where we shouldn't have been. You had to have known that, Chris. And how you could fight for it, none of us will ever know."

Bosco placed his hand on Scream's elbow to keep the tanned Soldier from hitting his old neighbor. But, Bosco could not stop Chris's tongue. "You see that fuckin' whole outside?"

"I was there. I know that…"

"I fight for that. I kept those mother fuckers on their soil, blowing up their own people, so that they don't come back to my fuckin' home, blowing up my neighbors."

"What about the lives of the men and women who died in a war of oil?" The neighbor challenged.

Now, had this neighbor known Chris Silas as he claimed that he had, he would have known to not challenge the battle hardened Staff Sergeant. The whole bar stared at table six as the latter of the gentlemen yelled "It wasn't and isn't about fuckin' oil!" After taking a deep breath, the veteran, keeping his voice loud enough for the bar to hear, continued. "And those men and women that died, in the Navy, the Army, the Marines, the Coast Guard and the Air Force? We knew what the fuck we were getting into when we raised our hand and took the oath to 'support and defend the Constitution of the United States against all enemies, foreign and domestic; that I will bear true faith and allegiance to the same, and that I will obey the orders of the President of the United States and the orders of the officers appointed over me.'" The gentlemen repeated the oath, from heart, as if he had just repeated it from the Officer in charge of his re-enlistment only a few months prior. "And if we didn't then, we would have known after we started our training. War, the potential of war, was there, for all recruits to see. Don't tell me or them that they died for less than a noble cause. They died for the freedom of another country; for the freedom of someone else. For some other peoples who craved the very freedom you take for granted. What have you done?"

The neighbor, having no reply, merely looked at the man who just yelled and then at his companion. "I've supported our troops."

"How? A yellow ribbon on the door? A yellow magnet that says 'Support our troops' on the back of your car?" Chris challenged.

Bosco glared at the neighbor, who had apparently rolled his eyes at Scream. "That's not the support we need."

"'We'?" The neighbor laughed. "What's this whole 'we' shit, Boscorelli?"

"I served alongside Silas in Somalia." There was a hurt look in his eyes. "When it became apparent to all of us there that our nation was losing trust and faith in us."

"That's because you go where we don't belong."

Scream slammed his beer down so hard that the glass, deciding that it had enough of the argument, shattered in his hand, spilling its contents. "I don't choose where I go. It's not like you, Tommy. I can't tell my CO that 'Sorry, Sir. I'm having a moral issue about us invading this country and will kindly pass on this war. Please let me know when we have a war that isn't morally wrong and I will gladly follow. Good luck, Sir, and God speed.' I have no choice. My Commander in Chief tells me I'm going to Iraq, I'm going." Chris calmed his voice down. "You don't know what is really happening there. You would rather believe a media, that is so against our involvement there, which shows us in a bad light, than listen to those who have been there."

"Then tell us." A faint voice from the front yelled back.

If it had been any other Soldier, the reply would have been forthcoming. But this was Chris Silas, a child who had grown to a man being very private and divulged only the information that he felt necessary. Scream sighed and, in a voice that was far softer than one would have expected from such a bulky man, simply replied "It wouldn't matter what I told you because you will believe what you will believe. I have seen the worst of it. I have seen the best of it. I have seen children…" his voice hitched and he took a moment before continuing. "I have seen children die and I have seen my men die. I have been in combat, held down by gunfire for hours on end, under orders, for a simple snipe mission. I have seen the injured. I have seen…" Scream looked up, and if one looked closely, they would have noticed the tears forming and they would have noted that the battle scarred man trying to stop them. "I have seen my life flash before my eyes as an IED hit the Humvee I was in."

"I have seen the smiles of the children as they see us coming, knowing that we are there to fight on their behalf, to protect them from the boogie man so they can sleep safely at night." Bosco interjected, knowing the truth behind that very statement. He had seen the faces of children in Somalia, close to starving to death, smile a weak smile towards the Rangers as they passed by. He then closed his eyes, trying to forget how a warlord turned these same kids on them in a matter of days. He didn't mention this part, knowing that Tommy could only use it for ammunition on why the military needed to be disbanded.

Tommy seemed to be dissatisfied with this answer, but seeing the look in the eyes of such a haunted man, decided (and rightfully so) not to challenge anymore. The young man that he had grown up, playing football and basketball with, was not the man sitting before him now. Rightly or wrongly, the neighbor made mental note, his old friend had indeed changed. Chris Silas, always haunted by the lack of love he received at home, was even more haunted and distant than anyone who knew him could have thought he could ever be.

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**Author's note: I have put both sides of the Iraq war here. My point of view and those who oppose the war. I have heard from Soldiers who believe in what they were/are doing in Iraq and from those who still wonder. DO NOT PUT YOUR VIEW ABOUT IRAQ IN REVIEWS! THEY WILL BE DELETED! This is, after all, just a story.**


	6. Chapter 6

**Please see Chapter 1 for all disclaimers.  
**

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The patrons of Filan's Pub continued to stare at the two men, who seemed no longer interested in staying. The taller and haunted man apologized for shattering the glass and offered to pay for, only to be told that it happens. The owner of the pub, a Vietnam Veteran, simply smiled and declined to allow the two men to pay for their drinks, calling it his "patriotic duty" to serve them. He shook their hands and wished them well. The rest of the customers looked on shocked, and if the three Army veterans saw it, they didn't show it. They said nothing more as the two Rangers left the pub.

Silence was the other companion of the two men, who seemed to revel in it. Neither man felt like saying much. Instead, they walked around the city, looking around at the busyness of it. As they made their way in Times Square, they made note of all the people walking, blissfully unaware of the inner turmoil of the two troubled men walking among them. As the two men walked, slowly talking and smiling, Chris looked at a young man with a tie-dyed peace sign t-shirt on. He simply shook his head, remembering that he fought for that young man.

As they made their way down the crowded street, the taller man couldn't help but think of how much the people he walked among took for granted. He heard their laughter and their arguing and prayed that none of them ever saw again what they saw on that dreadful day. He looked at Bosco, who seemed to understand. "You hope that they never see what you've seen." The NYPD roughneck quietly spoke.

_The situation was tense. They were completely surrounded and there wasn't a way out. The simple half hour mission was now well into its sixth hour. Silas, hungry and thirsty, sat still, thankful for the cease in the gunfire for a moment. Bosco sat next to him. "Some simple mission, eh, Scream?"_

_The older Ranger simply nodded, trying not to laugh. War wasn't funny. The fact that some of their fellow Rangers and Delta Force had been killed in action already certainly wasn't a funny moment. But, as the two sat there, they couldn't help but laugh a little. The irony of the whole situation suddenly filled the room and all the men in the crowded little house couldn't help but smile a little._

_Sergeant Preston wiped his forehead, the sweat cleaning off some of the dirt. "For those of you new to the United States Army, I'd like to welcome you to Somalia. Your guides are the Skinnies who are currently shooting at us. We hope that you enjoy your first foray into combat and hope you get home alive."_

_A few more quiet giggles before the sound of bullets interrupted the Rangers. Chris lifted his gun and to shoot at the person he saw holding the gun. He shook his head. "Jesus." He whispered. "Can't be older than twelve years old." He prayed a silent prayer before pulling the trigger. The blood slowly pooled out of the young man's head._

_And so the next hour of fighting for their lives began._

Despite the noise of the Square and the people walking around them, the two men stopped and looked at each other, their connection allowing the younger man to know what the older man was thinking. If there was doubt of the close friendship the two men shared, it would have, at that moment, been erased. Tears uncharacteristically threatened to fall out of the dark eyes of the distraught older man, causing the younger man to uncharacteristically pull him into a hug, soothing him.

Passersby who paid attention to the two men would have heard the grey eyed young man tell the elder gentleman that he had done what he had to do to save the men he was serving with, which was followed by a quiet "but he was fucking twelve. A whole fucking life ahead of him."

It would have seemed that fate would have had them stop in front of the station they had stopped at, but neither man believed in fate and would have challenged that it was mere coincidence. In the hustle and bustle of the city noises, the two veterans had stopped in front of the Times Square Armed Services Recruiting Station they had enlisted at. Fate was trying to tell them something, but the men didn't believe in fate.

Two Soldiers leaving the station saw the two men and heard key words. Without a moment's hesitation, the older Soldier walked over to the two men. "Hey. Wanna talk?"

No one ever accused Chris Silas of wanting to talk to strangers about war and life, but as he looked up at the man standing in front of him, hand on his shoulder, Chris looked in his eyes. "Ever been to war?"

The other man softly smiled. "Yeah. I was in Desert Storm."

Those words calmed the two friends down and they followed the men into the Station and began to compare war stories.

_Tariq went down. Scream had never been so scared in combat. He was going to lose one of his men and for what? If he could have justified it for freedom, he'd have been okay to a degree, but for money? Lieutenant Hunter needed to be stopped. The veil of war had given Chris the cover he needed. He aimed his rifle at the Officer and shot._

_It seemed like an eternity before the Sergeant felt he could relax, but when he did, he could only hang his head. He had just murdered an Officer in the United States Army._

Not that Chris ever spoke a word of it. It was his secret. None of the men he served with ever knew that it was his gun that gunned the Lieutenant down. It was assumed it was the enemy. He hadn't even told Bosco the whole story. As he talked about that firefight that was over money, the battle scarred policeman rolled his head and sighed. Chris needn't say anything. His friend already knew the truth.

After a few moments of war stories over several cups of coffee, the two recruiters and veterans parted ways. The men walked away feeling a little better. But, as they fought their way through the crowds, the feelings of war overtook Chris. He felt weak and had to sit down. He looked at his friend, who understood.

They found an all night café and continued to talk. To the casual observer, it was two old friends getting caught up as the two men exchanged child hood stories. The younger of the two men smiled a crooked smile and talked of war. "Remember when we used to play war in our backyards?"

The older man nodded, a painful smile on his face. He had recalled playing war and how his parents had tried to beat the idea out of him. He had been banned from playing with his friend for three months. Bosco's mom may have been okay with her son playing war, but the Silas's were pacifists who wanted their sons to grow up and find other ways of solving problems than war.

_Like most people, Chris had been glued to the television when CNN covered the invasion of Iraq. He was nearing the end of his Senior year of high school and his parents were trying to show the evils of war. Mauricio sat on the couch, drinking his coffee, talking about the invasion. "We're going over to where we don't belong. Much like we did when we went to 'Nam. This is Bush's war for oil. He's going to kill innocent people for more oil. I told you we didn't need an oilman in the White House."_

_Chris ignored his father as he continued watching. In two weeks, he'd be eighteen and he could do something. He wanted to do something. He couldn't seem to just sit back and let others fight. His parents may have been flag burning pacifists, but he wasn't. He loved America and wanted to fight for her, even if it meant going to protect another nation. As far as he saw it, protecting another nation was protecting America._

_He said nothing of this to the eldest Silas. Instead, he went to his room and vowed that the day after he turned eighteen, he was going down to the Army recruiter and enlisting._

"What I remember was that my parents forbid me to play with you for months." Chris smirked as he sipped from his coffee.

"I noticed that it didn't exactly stop you from becoming what they hated."

The hurt in the man's eyes was apparent, that his friend opened his mouth to apologized, only to be met with a wave of the hand, indicating that, while his comment hurt, it was true and there wasn't a reason to apologize. For his part, Chris had accepted that his family was embarrassed of him. He had tried to reconcile after Somalia, only to be booted, more or less, out of the family two years later, after he had decided to re-enlist. And now? He knew now that his family couldn't have cared if he lived or died. His sigh indicated that any hope of reconciliation was now dead and buried. But, as he looked across the table, the dark haired man realized that he didn't care. His family was sitting across from him. And, as his phone rang, he looked at the name: _Tariq Nassiri _and realized that he had his family after all. They may not have been related by blood, but they were Chris Silas's family and that they were all he needed.

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**Sorry it took 2 years to update, but my muses have been vacationing. I hope that, despite the two year delay, that it still is what you had been expecting and that it still fits in with the beginning of the story. It may take me a while to get the whole "Charles Dickens"-esque style of writing back, but I hope you still enjoy.**

**Navy  
**


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